


Untitled

by AutumnHobbit



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Brothers, Drabble, Gen, Illness, No Slash, Whump, nonsensical, open-ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:57:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10447356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: Tim scanned the veritable piles of children in more than a bit of panic. He heard plenty of hoarse breathing and could see puddles of blood alongside the brightly-colored costumes...but what he couldn't see was the one costume he was looking for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is.

Tim shoved past the others, extended his bo stick and began ramming it against the glass door, sending shattered bits raining down onto the floor on the other side. He kicked at the glass once he had a sizable enough hole for it, and finally cleared it enough that he could duck through and run ahead. The other senior heroes behind him shouted warnings and even threats---the threats were probably mostly from Jason---but he ignored them, striding forward without so much as a glance back. He tightened his fists around his bo staff, almost hoping one of the dipshits who'd dared to do this would be in his way.

But to his relief and slight disappointment, the way was clear and empty, and it took him barely any time at all to round the corner to the open room where the kids were previously being held. Previously because now the perpetrators were long evacuated, the way clear to escape, but none of the kids were in any condition to do so.

Tim scanned the veritable piles of children in more than a bit of panic. He heard plenty of hoarse breathing and could see puddles of blood alongside the brightly-colored costumes...but what he _couldn't_ see was the one costume he was looking for. 

He saw a familiar shape only a few feet away, and set off, picking up any children in his path that looked in good enough condition to be moved and propping them against the wall, instructing them to sit still and wait for the rest of the League. When he reached Jon's side, the boy raised his head, bloodshot eyes wide, clearly in better shape than the others but still affected.

"Jon, where's Robin?" Tim asked urgently. 

Jon's face crumpled, and he pointed over to the other side of the room, in a corner, where Tim could just barely make out Damian's cape beneath another's costume.

"He...he made me get away," Jon said, and Tim cringed at the childish panic and the tears in his voice. "Told me to look after the others first, and he didn't want to make me sick..."

Jon started crying then, and Tim spared a quick ruffle of his hair and a murmured reassurance before he spun and nearly ran across the room. He dropped to his knees beside the pile of children, gulping in sudden dread at how _still_ this group was. To his relief, the other kids were breathing, if roughly, and he moved them as carefully as he could before pulling Damian's unresponsive form into his arms, tucking the smaller boy against his chest.

He quickly checked Damian's pulse, breathing, and pupils, and cringed at how high his heart rate was, how shallow and unsteady his breaths were, and how blown his pupils were. The boy's face was drenched in sweat and slack, mouth open, and his lips were chapped and bleeding, blood dried on his chin and trailing from his nose. Tim cupped his burning cheek in one hand, and patted gently. "Damian. Dames. Wake up."

No response, Damian's head just lolled limply against his chest again, and Tim bit back fear, slapping his cheek a bit harder and letting his tone go a bit sharper. " _Robin_. Wake up."

At that, Damian tensed, brows creasing, and his lashes fluttered for a long while before they finally opened to slits, his gaze glassy and distant.

"Drake..." he rasped, his eyes rolling back to the whites from the slight bit of effort. "Why're y'u here? You shouldn't b' dead."

Tim flinched as if the child had slapped him, and kept his hand on Damian's face, stroking off some of the sweat with his thumb. "I'm alive, Damian. So are you."

Damian looked confused, his brow creased as he seemed to puzzle over the revelation. Tim continued to push his sweaty hair back; it stuck in the spiky position he left it in. 

Suddenly, Damian's grip tightened on Tim's shirt. "No," he breathed, voice full of horror. "No, you can't be here, you _can't_..." he squirmed, trying to pull away from Tim, but he was so weak his struggles weren't capable of being anything but an annoyance. Tim locked his arms around his brother as he struggled. "Dames, what are you doing, hold still---"

"You'll _catch it,"_ Damian half-wailed, and Tim froze. "You'll catch it, and you'll _die_ , and I can't...it'll be _my_..." He faltered, and then his small chest heaved and he doubled over away from Tim, and blood splattered from his mouth onto the floor. Tim held him up as he hyperventilated and shook through the fit, rubbing his back in between his small shoulders, and when it was over and he crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, Tim drew the boy back into his arms, held him almost as if he were an infant, an arm wrapped securely around his back and another cradling his head. 

"You can't," Damian moaned again, hot tears burning Tim's neck. "I don't _want_ you to die. I don't want you to."

"I won't, Dami," Tim promised, trying to calm his own shuddering heart at how lethargic his baby brother was acting, how his eyes had glazed over again, half-open, at how washed out his skin was and how his breathing was rattling faintly against Tim's neck, faltering constantly. He sank his hand into Damian's hair, stroking his head as Damian's tiny hand clawed weakly at the front of his uniform, trying to grip it. 

Damian took in a shaky breath. "W-where is Father?" He asked, voice tiny and breathless and scared. 

Tim pressed his cheek to Damian's forehead as he continued to stroke his hair. "Outside. He's coming right in, and so's the rest of the League, okay? We came for you, we're gonna figure out a cure, you're all gonna be fine, you hear me? You're gonna be fine. We're _both_ going to be fine. So you just rest and let _me_ worry about _you_ , okay, you little gremlin?" 

Damian was startlingly quiet, and Tim hated the way his voice rose an octave, broke in panic as he pleaded, _"Dames?"_

A shuddering breath. "Okay," Damian whispered, fisting his hand again in the front of Tim's shirt.


End file.
